


This Lonely View

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-09
Updated: 2007-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause with the birds I'll share</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Lonely View

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mentions of canonical abuse by a parent

Someone put their hand to Beaver a while ago, and Logan can see the scars in the bobbing of his head, bent over Logan and concentrating hard on the task, a perfect little cocksucker.

Afterwards, Logan walks around shirtless, fixing himself a drink from the liquor cabinet, no longer locked. Beav’s a bright boy, his eyes dart all over the room, as if memorising it for unknown reasons. His eyes travel down from the ceiling fan, and Logan can see, maybe, just how Veronica followed the same sight, the beginning of the nasty end. But everyone knows about the cameras in the poolhouse now, and Beaver’s eyes keep moving. They skirt the length of Logan’s body, and again, memorising him as well. Logan twirls generously, arms outstretched.

“Like what you see?” he sneers. There were times when Aaron wasn’t as careful with his rage, lashes that cut higher, deeper. Beaver licks his lips nervously before he asks; not _how did you get them_ as Logan would expect anyone to ask if they had the chance, but, “Why did you let it happen?”

“As if I had a choice,” Logan answers bitterly, and he sees those scars chase across Beaver’s face, anguish and something else – a shamed lust.

“At least your father knows you exist,” Beaver says evenly in return, and Logan recoils. How much damage can an absent father inflict? He says as much, angrily, and Beaver stares at him, then puffs his cheeks out. Sticks his tongue into the crevice created and moves it around, just for a moment, lewd; but doesn’t say anything else.

Logan sits down heavily on the bed, his back to the other boy. He feels soft hands on his shoulders after an awkward silence, too-light touches here and there. Scars upon scars, badly healed wounds. Beaver keeps his fingers running across Logan’s skin, more awe than arousal, more arousal than awareness. Logan feels himself get hard anyway. Then Beaver leans forwards and traces the line down Logan’s lower back with his tongue, and Logan closes his eyes, drops his head.

Fucking Beaver is too easy. He’s all eyes and mouth, and he takes direction well. Shedding his clothes – t-shirt and jeans and sneakers, all-American kid – with quick motions without words, standing there waiting for Logan to call the shots. Logan reaches out and pulls the other boy into his lap, places Beaver’s hands on his waist, and whispers, “Do your worst.” And doesn’t flinch when Beaver leans in and bites him, hard, between his neck and shoulder, teeth sinking against tensed muscle, lips wet against the skin. Logan tightens his hold on Beaver’s hips, digs his fingernails into the flesh, and when Beaver makes a noise in the back of his throat, a gasp a moan, he slides the boy along his thighs until they’re grinding against each other, hard and angry.

“Did I tell you to stop?” he asks harshly, to see Beaver flinch. Lifts one hand to his lips and sucks on his fingers, one two three, a parody of Beaver before, watching his face intently. Beaver closes his eyes for a moment, then moves to the same spot as before and tongues the imprint he’s left, as his hands move over Logan's back to find the same scar he was fascinated with before, the long welt, drawing his fingertips over its nubbly edges. Logan allows him this gentle exploration, swallows as Beaver touches the closed raised skin as delicately as he would an open wound; and just as the younger boy seems lulled into a rhythm a calm Logan twists two fingers into him without warning and fucks him, face to face. Beaver turns his head away but when Logan stills his hand Beaver raises himself on his knees before slumping down with a whimper, over and over.

Logan watches him at it for a little while, and a part of him is muttering _you little needy slut_ but he doesn’t even have to say it out loud and he’s sure Beaver can hear him, or hear the same words at least, and it drives him harder and faster. When he’s almost sobbing Logan gives into pity and impatience and flips them over and fucks Beaver properly, one hand on his cock. It doesn’t take much more than that, and when Logan comes Beaver is licking the corner of his mouth, a diffident kiss, as if he isn’t used to such liberties. And it’s the release, Logan’s sure, that makes him feel so empty and dirty and sated in that moment.

Lying there staring at the ceiling with its camera-eye blind, keeping its secrets, both boys silent, and Logan is thinking about his father’s legacy, and how the bastard is at least paying for some of the shit he wrought. But somebody hurt Beaver once, worse than anything Logan has suffered or maybe even dealt, and they taught the Beav the way _he_ thinks the world works and maybe is still teaching him through the actions of others. Logan can just about see the tiny bit of twisted knotted soul left inside his friend’s little brother, a way out, but he’s too much of an asshole to think too carefully on what they’ve done, and too much of a coward to pull on that frayed end to see what unravels.

END


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